Her heart, his hearts
by Loverly Souris
Summary: After River's farewell, the Doctor is devastated and does something unforgivable to the only person around him - his companion, Clara. Hurt and confused, she runs away to a distant country, only to realise that being with him is more precious to her than anything else.
1. The Doctor

**Her heart, his hearts**

Written by Loverly Souris

**o0o o0o o0o**

_I. The Doctor_

Days passed. Silent, motionless days.

She is not here, and she would never be, but her presence still lingers.

He can still feel the taste of their last kiss on his lips. The smoothness of her skin on the tips of his fingers. Her smell, her enticing, wonderful smell.

The sweet mixture of vanilla, old books and evening dew.

The love sparkling in her eyes was more beautiful than any of the galaxies in this vast universe. It attracted him more than anything he'd ever seen and touched. That passion was fiercely burning only for him and nobody else. It was perfect.

Until the fire was extinguished and faded away along with her smile. She left only one thing behind – longing.

He longs to touch her, he longs to kiss her, to have her by his side again.

He should have never let her go.

He is sitting on the stairs in his beloved ship and regrets letting her slip away from him. He should have taken care of her, properly, like a husband should take care of his wife, even if it wasn't entirely possible.

And now, she is gone. Forever.

Suddenly, his eyes are filled with tears. He has already lost count how many times he cried in the slow-motion of the last few days. He doesn't care, really. The salty drops fall onto the cold floor of the console room.

Even having two hearts is not enough to handle this much bitter longing.

For a long time, he is alone, but then he hears feather-light footsteps approaching him from behind. His companion. Cautiously, she sits down onto the stairs next to him. A tiny hand, much smaller and different, settles on his shoulder.

"Don't cry."

Of course, he only sobs harder at her voice, so she carefully wraps her arms around his torso. He buries his face into the crook of her neck. She feels so familiar, so comforting, like that peaceful, ordinary life he could never have. He embraces this feeling, he embraces her.

But they are _so different_.

If his wife was fire, then his companion is water, soothing, flowing gentleness that cools his mind and his hearts.

He clings onto her desperately, and it dawns to him that he loves both of them. This is why two hearts can't handle his feelings for his wife – because only one of his hearts was hers in the first place.

The other heart is beating for his companion, who is right here with him.

He reaches up to free her brown hair from the loose ponytail and rakes his fingers through the soft tresses. She shivers in his arms and he strokes the back of her neck in response. She tilts her head to glance up at him, her breath tickling his chin. Huge, ever-curious chocolate eyes, long eyelashes. They make her look like a doe, gazing from under the bushes.

These eyes are nothing like the all-knowing bluish orbs of his wife.

His fingers slowly travel down from her nape and unzip her dress. She freezes, but doesn't utter a word, her eyelids dropping. His hands slip under the fabric where it opened and touch the tender skin of her back. One more swift motion gets the bra out of the way, and soon his fingertips are tracing the hollow of her spine, caressing her up and down. Her breath is heavy.

He imagines ripples on the surface of a pond, running across the water in synch with the rapid thumping of her heart. He pulls her even closer and gingerly brushes his lips to her forehead. She leans into him willingly, which feels like fuel to his need.

Strange. She should put out the flames in him, not feeding them.

As he lays her back onto the floor of the console room, he wants more. His longing rises to unbearable levels and starts raging in his body, entirely taking control over him. He touches her face. He strokes her cheeks with the back of his hand, and once again, while two equally loving hearts collide in the depth of his chest, he compares her to his wife.

Her features are not so prominent. Her lips are not so full. Just like her neck which is slimmer and her shoulders which are narrower.

He peels the layers of clothing away from her chest. Her breasts are much smaller, but very sensitive, as she shudders when he leans to nuzzle against her delicate nipples. The pleasant sigh that escapes her throat echoes in his head for a long time.

She feels so different and it fills him with inexplicable melancholy.

Even though he can't deny that he loves her as well.

He runs his hands down on her still clothed waist and his fingers disappear under the skirt. His hearts clash again, the collision evoking a vicious thunder that turns his movements uncharacteristically rough and forceful. All the gentleness has evaporated in an instant. His nails scrape her thighs when he removes her underwear.

She obviously notices the sudden change, but he can't look at her face. He only catches a glimpse of her expression as he spreads her legs and situates himself between them. She is staring at him, and under the thin layer of similar kind of lust, she is utterly horrified.

But he doesn't care.

He can't stop – he wouldn't stop.

A lightning strikes him. He hastily unbuttons his trousers and pushes it down along with his pants.

It's not tender. It's not passionate. It's neither water, nor fire. It's something new, something terrible and painful, because one of his hearts is already broken and he is about to destroy the other as well.

Metal, it is like metal, cold and hard. Sheer force. Unyielding, like Gallifreyan red gold – cruel, like his worst faces.

He enters her and she cries out. Her hips start to wriggle under him, but he leans onto her and holds her down. He shoves into her to the hilt, not listening to her panicked whimpers mixed with occasional sighs of delight. Although in the depth of his mind, he is vaguely aware that he is hurting her, the fog is too thick in his head and the thunder is still raging.

She is tight, extremely tight. He briefly wonders how long it has been since she was with a man – or if she has ever been with anyone at all – but soon he realises it doesn't matter, because her muscles coil around his length perfectly and it's amazing.

Her warmth is almost the same. Wet and suffocating and full of love. He lets himself drown in her, like he drowned in his wife so many times.

He hugs her as he starts to move. His thrusts are needy and fast from the beginning. He doesn't order himself to take it easy, to slow down for the sake of the trembling woman beneath him – he knows it'd be in vain. He wouldn't gain satisfaction by conquering her patiently.

Not only could he feel that she is trying her best to follow his frantic movements, she is also suppressing her pain and fighting to give in to the pleasure entirely. He reaches to her chest and gently cups one of her breasts in his hand, a gesture in stark contrast with his violent pushes. He fondles the pebbled nipple lovingly while he keeps slamming into her in an almost animalistic way.

The intimate familiarity of their situation renews his passion. _She used to love this._

He has no idea how it is possible, but their pace is gradually increasing. Blinded by his own bliss, he doesn't notice that she can't keep up with him anymore. He twists the small bud between his fingers to encourage her, a spasm of pain rushes through her body which clenches around him even more. He smiles, not his usual childish, goofy smile, and with a few more erratic pushes, he is flying towards those well-known heights, those summits he has climbed so many times and he welcomes the feeling like an old lover.

In the delirium of his completion, he utters _her_ name almost inaudibly, "River."

And he comes, especially hard inside her. Senseless, deliciously out of his mind. Empty – it's been such a long time since he was so wonderfully empty. His groans continue to linger in the air, mixing with her soft pants.

Her hands find their way to his hair, brushing away the wet bangs from his forehead. He clings to her waist, resting his head on her chest, contentedly listening to her calming heartbeat. However, there is a bad feeling prodding at the back of his brain that something is missing, but he can still barely see anything from the fog, so he ignores it and runs his fingertips down on her arm instead.

For long minutes, they stay like this, with him still deep in her, basking in the afterglow of his soaring. Then, it is her who breaks the silence by whispering a last request. "Kiss me. Please."

Her voice, her sweet, caring, loving voice has a devastating impact on his serenity, since he finally realises what was missing, what was different, and he finds himself unable to do the only thing she asks.

She wasn't flying with him.

Again, he can't even look into her eyes as he pulls out of her and releases her from his embrace. She stands up and slips her arms back into the straps of her bra and the sleeves of her dress.

He has no right to touch her, and the thunder subsides, the fog clears up to reveal his other heart full of tiny cracks. Her name tumbles out of his mouth. It feels blasphemous. An atheist's prayer. "Clara..."

"It's alright."

He finally glances at her and meets her eyes. She is smiling. How can she do that, always smiling even when she is scared or hurt? It takes him a moment to notice it is fake – the rest of her radiates dark sorrow.

"It's alright, really," she repeats, punctuating her sentence with a teary chuckle. "No big deal."

And then, she turns away from him, quickly descending the stairs – that's when he sees the thin streak of blood. It's slowly trickling down on the inside of her left thigh, mingled with his seed, as a terrifying memento.

The sight burns into his mind and it drives him insane.

He wants to go after her. He wants to wrap his arms around her tiny frame and whisper into her ear, tell her that he is sorry, that he didn't mean to ravish her and he loves her so much. But he is sitting in the debris of his remaining heart and he can't move.

He watches her slip through his fingers.

**o0o o0o o0o**

_Thank you for reading! :)_

_This is a two-shot, and the second part is coming very-very soon. I promise some actual stuff is going to happen, not just smut. :D Not that I don't like smut – I just suck at it. :D_

_As always, you are free to share your opinion. :)_


	2. Clara

**Her heart, his hearts**

Written by Loverly Souris

**o0o o0o o0o**

_II. Clara_

Days passed. Silent, motionless days.

After a night of restless sleep, she told him that she wanted to go home.

"Okay," he said and with a painfully false smile – similar to the one she was wearing –, he flew the ship back to her house. Before she could leave though, he stopped her at the door. "Can I come back for you next Wednesday?"

She looked at him, forcing her smile to go wider and nodded. "Sure."

Of course, she already knew that she wouldn't be there the following week. She stepped out of the blue box without the intention of ever returning.

Isolation from everything – that was her new goal. To avoid getting hurt.

She has always planned to try travelling alone, so she opened her book of _"101 Places to See"_ and she let her fate guide her to a random page. A random place. Despite of thinking that the concept of "destiny" was rubbish, for once, she was willing to give in. She didn't have the determination to lead herself – invisible powers could come really handy in times like this.

After that, she packed her few belongings and practically ran away.

She didn't tell anyone where she was going. There was no need for them to know. When she bid goodbye to the family, they reassured her that she could come back whenever she wanted, the job would be waiting for her. She smiled at that as well. "Thank you. I'll think about it."

Her father only said, "Take care of yourself." She promised she would.

The plane took her to a distant country. She could immediately smell the scent of the cherry blossoms, although it was autumn. It must have seeped so deeply into the soil that it would probably linger even long after the islands sank into the sea. She was sure she'd love being here.

The air is heavy with rain. She is sitting on a bench with her favourite red umbrella over her head and watches the temple nestled between the hills.

She has seen so many wondrous things, but nothing can be compared to the subtle beauty of her own planet. Sights like that remarkable building half hidden by the clouds make her feel safe, even if this is an entirely foreign land. She suspects that maybe those who have touched the stars, whose line of vision has been stretched by alien civilisations, new universes, gradually grow to regard the whole globe as their home.

Minutes drift by, and she keeps counting the raindrops falling onto her umbrella. She feels hollow, an abandoned shell, but it's not the same, painful emptiness she felt for days after that evening. It's a harmonious, reconciling void and she smiles.

Sixty-five drops later, she stands up and walks towards the flight of stairs leading to the temple. She places her palm on the traditional wooden gate and drinks in the energy it is emitting. It's red, her favourite colour. There is a similar monument on the top of the stairs as well – she touches that one, too.

On the path towards the small shrine, she sees more people, mostly tourists and a few locals. Slender maples are watching her with their fiery crimson leaves, swaying under the weight of the raindrops.

A group of young girls passes by her, giggling and heading towards a booth. She can't see what they are doing, but she can hear squeals of excitement and groans of disappointment before they walk away, each carrying a strip of paper in their hands and step to a pine tree. Some of them tie the paper to the branches already adorned with whiteness, while others fold it and put it away.

It all seems very interesting, so she decides to take a look and hurries to the stand, but she doesn't understand anything of the foreign characters. She briefly thinks that it would be nice to know every language in the world, when a heavily accented voice addresses her. "Hi, do you want to know your fortune? It's free, just today. We accept offerings though."

She looks up. The girl sitting in the booth, clad in traditional clothes is distinctly not local, but she is not a tourist either. She is smiling at her patiently with a strange box in her hand.

Fortune? _Well… why not? _"Sure, how does it go?"

"First of all, shake this until a bamboo stick falls out. It has a number on it." And she pushes the box into her hand. She rattles it sheepishly, until a piece indeed appears and she gives it back to the girl. "Okay, then…" She inspects the number on the stick and turns away for a few seconds to retrieve another wooden case with several slips of paper. "Now, draw one of these."

Her hand ghosts over the box for a long moment, but then she reminds herself that she doesn't even believe in stuff like this and her heart is very silly for beating so fast. Finally, she chooses one and unfolds the paper. Of course, she can't read it.

"I'll translate it for you," the girl offers and she hands it to her. She starts reading aloud, partially showing it to her, her index finger following the characters. "Let's see… oh! It says _"blessing"._ That's not bad. I had _"small curse" _on mine today and I forgot my phone at home." She continues, pointing at the second half of the paper. It's printed heavily. "These are the more specific and interesting stuff, an aspect of your life and the fortune. Desire – calm the storm in your heart to see clearly. A person you are waiting for – don't hesitate to forgive. Travel – you will find yourself, if you go to new places. Business – starting something new might be risky. Studies – even monkeys fall from trees. That's a traditional proverb, it means that everybody makes mistakes. So… disputes – you won't always win, so don't be overconfident. Love – you are in love with an impossible person, stay strong for both of your sakes. Childbirth – the parent in you will rejoice. Illness – be careful, stress can weaken your body. Marriage – don't think there's only one type of marriage, each snowflake is unique. Oh, that's so sweet, the last one!"

For a brief moment, she thinks that it's some kind of cruel joke. Sure, probably these fortunes are written in a way so that the reader could easily relate to them – but it's still too perfect.

"Are you okay?" the girl asks concernedly, and she nods.

"Yeah, it's just… well, it's a surprisingly accurate description."

"Really?" Her face lights up excitedly. "That's so nice, glad to hear that. When I drew my first fortune, it said the opposite of everything that happened. I was here as an exchange student at that time, and it said I'd be kicked out of university and once I go home, I'd never return. Surprise, I finished school and I've lived here for two years." She grins. "A lot of people say it's bullshit, but I think these fortunes do their job, in one way or another. If you think yours is fitting, then you should listen to it, you know." She gives it back to her and points at the pine tree. "You can tie it on one of the branches. Or you can keep it."

She reaches into her purse and fishes out a few coins. "Thank you," she says and turns away from the booth. She attaches the strip to the tree and runs her fingers across it for a last time, hope and bitterness blooming in her heart.

A part of her accuses herself of being an idiot for getting so sentimental again, probably for nothing, while another part of her watches her walls shake and slowly crumble, welcoming the feeling of having her emotions back to fill the void. Her stomach flutters in a familiar way, when she recalls the fortune about her desire and her love, but the others were somehow pointing towards _him_ as well.

While she is walking down the stairs, she is deep in thought.

_It's about time, _she sighs – she's never actually thought it over.

She loves him, that much is crystal clear – she was falling in love with him long before he took her on the floor of the console room. Even though she had to keep reminding herself to avoid getting too attached to him, she ended up giving in and placing her heart at his feet.

She loves him, and hearing that said out loud only nourished this feeling. A longing washes over her body, a sweet, gentle need, but at the same time it's so powerful that she has to sit down. As soon as she lowers herself onto the stairs, her mind automatically recalls that evening and her legs twitch.

It definitely wasn't how she imagined their first time would be. In the beginning, she thought it might turn out even better – he was so tender, so loving, almost bringing her to the edge by simple strokes, caresses. She wanted to kiss him so much at that moment, it would have been so perfect, his lips on hers, while the rest of the universe melted around them.

She has always been a hopeless romantic secretly and she often curses herself for that, because real life is nothing like the love stories and fairy tales – she experienced it herself when his touches turned rough and violent, when he left her halfway and soared without her, when the name he uttered at the peak wasn't hers but his late wife's…

However, she can't blame him.

She should, but she can't

She should be angry at him. She should hate him, but she _just can't_.

That's how foolishly she loves him.

If she told anyone about this, they would say that he robbed her. He stole her body, her heart and her love, using her to satisfy his own selfish want. But it doesn't matter, she doesn't care he practically forced himself on her and he wasn't even thinking about her. All this couldn't make her love him less.

It is so like her, harbouring such a deep attachment to a person who doesn't reciprocate her feelings.

Because she is sure he doesn't love her, despite of getting so close to each other after he discovered her true identity. However, she can't blame him for that either. She understands that he loves his wife.

It's okay.

But then why does her heart still hurt so much?

She remembers the time when they were together. Side by side. Running from some horde of alien mutants, holding hands, saving galaxies, rewriting history, past and future. The corners of her mouth tug up slightly. She used to be so happy – the day when they first met was the best day of her life. She loved him, yes, but she felt it was alright if he didn't love her back, since being with him was so precious to her, she wouldn't have traded it for anything.

The penny drops.

She is _not_ with him, and that is the problem. That's where the sorrow comes from.

Suddenly, the whole idea of running away to avoid heartbreak seems infinitely stupid. She buries her face into her hands and shakes her head. _I'm such an idiot._ _Now I'll probably never see him again._

She shouldn't have left him– she should have stayed with him.

Being with him, it's worth everything, even the constant trap of unrequited love.

"I want to see you…" she whispers, her voice muffled by her palm. _Please, come back for me._

It takes her a long time to recollect herself. She would rather stay on the stairs and wait for him, but she reminds herself that she has a train to catch in twenty minutes and there is no chance he'd show up anyway. So she stands up, clutching her umbrella in one hand and deftly adjusting her bag to cover the wet stain on her dress with the other.

She walks by her bench and looks up at the temple to admire the sight once again. She doesn't watch her step as she turns onto a narrow street, so she carelessly runs into a…

A small blue box.

Suddenly, the predictable plot twists of romance stories and fairy tales doesn't seem to be that farfetched.

"Oh my stars!" she exclaims and can't help but throw her arms around the ship as she drops her umbrella. Her arms are too short to take it into a proper hug though, and she gets pressed up against the door. However, she couldn't care less. "Never thought I'd say it, ever, but I missed you so much, you old cow!"

The wood under her touch vibrates with energy and she is so happy. She knows she'll have the power to face whatever is waiting for her inside, and no matter what the outcome will be, everything is going to be fine. She has the box and she has him, after all.

She braces herself to break away from this rather one-sided hug, when the door opens and its hard surface turns into something warm and soft.

And utterly surprised. "What?! Clara…? Is that really you?"

Before she can fully comprehend the situation, he locks her into his embrace and immediately buries his face into her hair. Her own arms drop to her side – she is unable to move, it all feels like a dream and she is too scared to even breathe so that she wouldn't shatter this illusion.

She closes her eyes, tears of joy gathering on her eyelashes and his shirt drinks them in. "You're here," she whispers after an eternity of silent weeping. All of her confidence is gone and she wants so hard to come up with some flirty remark or something, but that's all she can manage – he has reduced her to a clingy, love-sick schoolgirl.

"Clara… oh, Clara, I'm so sorry." His hands are running up and down on her back soothingly, with a hint of uncertainty as if he still can't believe she is there. She feels the same, digging her nails into the fabric of his purple coat on his shoulders. She'd never let him go.

"It's alright," she says and they both shudder a little at the memory, the echo of her words from that evening. Only this time, she means it.

"No, it shouldn't be," he says pitifully. "There's no excuse for what I did to you. I hurt you. You saved my life, many, many times, and I… raped you in return."

"You didn't hurt me, Doctor, and it wasn't rape."

"As far as I know, forcing yourself onto someone without their consent is rape, Clara. And because you are the cleverest girl I've ever met, you should now turn around and run away from me so that I could never hurt you again."

She knows clearly these are just words – even if he doesn't love her, he doesn't want her to go, just like she doesn't want to leave. They'd both be devastated, if she walked away.

"Clever girls often do silly stuff. Also, you say that, but you're still hugging me, I couldn't run if I tried," she says, smiling into his chest. She expects him to release her immediately as she pointed it out, but instead, his embrace tightens around her.

"Because I…" The sentence trails off, he's unable to finish and it piques her curiosity.

"You what?" She tilts her head and he looks down at her. An adoring glint in his eyes, a sweet, timid half-smile on his lips, and her knees go weak. She is so glad he is holding her.

"You know, I have two hearts," he says while he reaches and strokes her face. "One is, well, occupied and it'll probably always be, but... oh dear, I know I have no right to say this to you. After what I did. But, Clara, I reserved the other just for you, my other heart. It has always been yours, I was just too daft to acknowledge that. Would you like to take it? After everything?"

She can't believe her own ears. _What was that…? Confession? Proposal? _ Either way, her eyes are filled immediately with tears again, and they flow down on her cheek, on his hand, one by one. Her own soul has grown wings and flying towards their favourite galaxies. She doesn't question whose the other heart is – it's obviously his wife's, and she is perfectly alright with that. It is how it should be. She'll be ready to share – having half of him is far better than having none after all.

"I'd understand if you said no, I'd deserve it actually, because-"

"Which one is that?" she cuts in with a watery grin, and he points at the right side of his chest. She leans closer to where the heart designated to her is beating and cuddles into him, then she kisses the spot. "I'll take it… of course, I'll take it, Doctor."

So when she looks back at him, he doesn't hesitate any more – he closes the short distance between them and captures her mouth with his.

She touches his hand still resting on her face, her index finger running across his knuckles in a feathery dance. Behind her eyelids, she sees an explosion of colours and she briefly wonders when she closed her eyes at all. Tiny raindrops are falling from the sky, she can feel them on her head. His smell is divine, how is it possible that she's never noticed it before? It's some alien flower, musk and time itself. Time and space – both of them has ceased to exist as long as he is kissing her.

She breaks away for a moment to take a shaky breath, then returns to his waiting lips. Tentatively trying her boundaries, she caresses his mouth with her tongue, but he pulls away. "Wait, I have one more thing to say to you," he says a bit throatily, and she nods.

"Alright, what is it?"

However, he doesn't answer, not immediately. His thumb slips out from under her palm and wanders on her face, brushing her chin, her nose, everywhere it can reach. She smiles.

And then, he leans to her ear so that only she could hear him, his breath tickling her skin as he whispers three words.

She knows very well how fiercely he is always fighting to avoid this feeling, how precious these words are from his lips. She can't believe this is all happening to her and she had no idea there are still heights of happiness to climb after he kissed him – but there are.

"I love you, too…" she breathes onto his mouth as he withdraws a little to gaze at her. "My stars, Doctor, I love you… I love you so much." And she kisses him with renewed passion, deeply and devotedly, already addicted to him more than ever.

Neither of them notices that meanwhile, the rain stops and the sky clears, just like in a real fairy tale.

She quickly runs out of air and breaks the contact, placing her head on his shoulder. He cups the back of her neck with his hand, playing with her hair. She sighs delightedly. It feels wonderful.

"When I couldn't find you at the Maitlands' the next Wednesday, I panicked," he says after a few seconds of silence. "I roamed around the globe, got lost at least a dozen times looking for you, and when I finally did, I… I had to wait."

She lifts her head a bit and watches him questioningly. "For how long?"

"… Four days."

"And why?"

He glances away from her and she notices a faint blush tinting his cheekbones. "The TARDIS knew where you were all along, but she decided not to inform me, and after she did, she didn't let me land her here. She said we weren't ready," he mutters towards the blue box like an offended child, and he is so adorable at that moment. She chuckles, reaching up to pat his face – a little bit of her old self comes back.

"Oh really? The little mummy's boy was not allowed to come and see her girlfriend?" she coos and the redness on his cheeks turns into a deeper, funnier shade.

"Just… shut up. Can't you be a little more serious here? You're far too cocky."

"That's why you love me, don't you?"

She grins at his flustered expression, but after a moment her lips ease into a soft smile, because she has never been happier in her whole life. Not even when they first met – it was, at least from her perspective at that time, pure coincidence. But then, he came back to her, he is ready to take her away again and she is more than willing to join him – it is a miracle.

_A blessing indeed._

So she takes his hand, lacing her fingers through his and leads him into the ship.

**The End**

_Thank you for reading! :)_

_Also, thank you very-very much, everyone, for the insaaane amount of reviews, favourites, alerts of all kinds on the first chapter. I love you all. Really. You are awesome. :)_

_However, I have one little request: please, don't hate me. Some of you might not have expected an outcome like this – I'm sorry, but I put both of my hearts into this story for you, dear Readers, and I sincerely hope you liked it in the end. :)_

_Don't hesitate to share your thoughts, and if you liked the whoufflé I baked, stay tuned for some more. :D_


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